What A Surprise
by EmTheAlmighty
Summary: Reading a friend that is unreadable is a tedious job for someone of John's moral background. But, whatever.
1. Puncture

Chapter One

Puncture

He wasn't sure how to come about what had happened the previous night.

To say that it was a comfortable joke between friends was an understatement. These types of things didn't happen between two men, especially when one of them is Sherlock Holmes.

John would have normally just brushed this off as a simple play-about between flatmates, if it wasn't for the acutely similar events prior. Because of this new, broader leap towards unnecessary, John couldn't help but run his hands over his face in frustration.

Yesterday simply opened John's eyes to something he wasn't sure of in a long shot. Of course he'd thought about it. Of course he'd sat in his bed for hours, putting two-and-two together... never getting something definite or realistic.

"_John, where are my clamps?"_

"_Excuse me?"_

"_Excuse you, indeed. Where did you put them when you cleaned up the kitchen the other day?"_

_ John sat up in his chair, setting his lukewarm tea in the table and sighing, "I'm sorry, Sherlock, but I really don't- wait, do you mean those pronged, plastic-"_

"_Obviously."_

_ John held the other's gaze for a moment, then stood and walked over to one side of the fridge, where a drawer held the 'clamps'. He opened it and received them, simply holding them out to the detective, "Is there anything else you're looking for while I'm at it?"_

_ John was leaning against the fridge as he watched his friend take the clamps in hand and hold them to his chest, slowly turning in a small circle in his place, looking for any missing thing that may be of use to his new hypothesis._

"_How about those small, plastic baggies I bought last weekend? I did say to leave them out, they would be of use to me soon, etc." every word punctuated with his Sherlockian resonance. John groaned and leaned down, facing away from the taller man to open a cupboard and reach for the small, cardboard box of baggies, "I actually saw you put these here last night, Sherlock. Stop playing with me."_

_ When the army doctor bent back up to hand the box to Sherlock, he gasped in surprise to feel the man's body way too close for comfort, arm trapping John between the fridge and counter, "Don't be dull. I forgot," No. He didn't. John internally rolled his eyes, but remained wary of his friends actions. Sherlock leaned a bit closer, making John's eyes cross in an effort to focus and at least seem astute under the intense gaze that puzzled him."But I do like when you do what I say." The voice was low and... suggestive? What in bloody-_

"_Especially when you bend over for me..." Oh, that was breathed so low and rumbling in the doctors ear that it was hard not to keep himself from pushing away and running straight upstairs and locking his door behind him. Not to mention the small smirk that played on the detective's plump lips._

_ But in attempts to play along with whatever stupid game Sherlock was playing, the older man chuckled under his breath and leaned just a bit closer, barely an inch from the other's face, "My pleasure..." with a sly grin. And with that, he leaned away and found his route to the empty chair in the living room. Before Sherlock could say anything else, John said over his shoulder, "Get back to work and leave me be for a bit, eh? I have some patient files to look through before tomorrow."_

And so the day went on. There wasn't much exchanged from then to now, where the army doctor sat and read the news with a cuppa sitting in his lap. Sherlock had left in the early afternoon and now it was past 8:30. Of course, John needn't worry; that was, again, completely normal for the detective.

But as the time passed in 221B, where the lonesome, confound army doctor sat with his frantic thoughts, a small amount of him began to think Sherlock had run. Maybe he was embarrassed of the situation, which was also completely normal, albeit his social limitations. And then there was the possibility that he was angry, which wasn't in any way appealing, especially considering John's own embarrassment.

And fucking _hell, _what fucking made Sherlock do that to him? Truth be told, John never ignored his proclivity towards Sherlock's being. Nor did he ever shamefully keep himself from imagining some pretty overwhelming situations that would drastically change their relationship.

Sherlock was a mystery, ironically. But he was undoubtedly the most interesting mystery of all. The fact that he never took care of himself and looked down on himself in far harsher ways than John thought was acceptable, provided so much frustration.

John loved those nights alone with the man after a tedious case. Coming home and taking a hot shower, cozening up on the couch and listening to the man verbally run through the nights adrenaline inducing events in total, enthusiastic detail. Those eyes lighting up in the most beautiful of ways.

What if it was just a joke? Was Sherlock capable of jokes of that caliber? No... If John really thought on that, he truly wasn't. But then again, like he thought, it was anyone's guess when it came to Sherlock's capabilities.

As he thought of the natural way Sherlock's cheeks would heat up to a conversation similar to yesterday's but only influenced by _John's _flirtatious intentions, he could of swore he felt the way Sherlock would yield to him; go along with it as John had, but shy and confused.

But then he thought of how smoothly Sherlock's comment came out. How proud of himself he was after seeing the slightly taken-aback look on the blonde's face. That was also very appealing to daze over; Sherlock taking control. John knew that if he ever caught himself in a sexual act with his best friend, the sociopath would without a doubt try to take control. But as for John, he would probably let it happen. There were those moments of submission between them that he never really looked into until now. Normally, John would counteract and make it clear that he would not simply bow down to the taller man. But at other times, he would sit quietly and take the man's harsh words, silently admiring the way the detective would forget who he was talking to and follow up with a curt apology.

He thought about the last time that happened, which was as well prior to last night's weird events.

"_John! What in bloody hell made you think it was necessary to use the last of the milk as creamer? You know damn well the second shelf is off limits on weekends! Hadn't you thought about why, maybe, the carton was on that shelf?"_

_ John stood by the stove, looking through some text he received over the day before locking the device and setting it on the counter beside him, "I told you already, I'm out to buy more in a few. I just have some laundry to attend." and the blonde turned for the door._

_ Sherlock growled at his friend's routine excuse and reached forward to grab a handful of John's jumper at his lower back and pulled him into his chest, which was all very quick and awkward and _why_._

_ John froze when the brunette suddenly let go of his clothing and lightly lay his hand on the blondes shoulder to turn and face him, "Um... sorry," His hand lingered and brushed at the blondes neck where the hair met the collar of his undershirt, eyes darting around everywhere but John's own, which were openly transfixed on the rare sight before him, "Just...just hurry up. Surely you know I'm not a patient man." and the detective turned to the living room where he sat in his usual spot on the couch, pulling his legs into a fetal-position and began thinking intently._

There was no denying how truly adorable the younger man acted on occasion. And when he thought John was admiring that fact, he would suddenly turn into a child and throw a fit over the tiniest of things. John, on the other hand, was more than happy to listen to him rant about these things, only because if it was a good day, the detective would allow himself to blush slightly. Ever so slightly.

John thought about the warmth of the hand on his shoulder that morning. The weight of a friend's awkward, yet comforting touch. How he would want that hand _everywhere _else on his body if it meant well.

And that's when John's thoughts started to set off properly. The slightest ghost of a touch was felt on the blondes neck. The warmth of Sherlock's long fingers grazing ever so slowly against the sliver of skin around his neck. John's mind also couldn't help but roam through the memories of the other times this happened. Of course, they were far more innocent and boring, but nonetheless extremely cute.

_ John's fingers were at a comfortable speed atop his keyboard one evening. A long day at surgery claimed his nebulous consciousness and all he craved was a hot cuppa and a nice discussion over a past case with some other blogging doctors that found their way to his stories._

_ Sherlock wasn't home quite yet, only hours ago leaving the flat with a short, " 'll be back later. Leave the beakers alone." before slipping out in what seemed to be a hurry. John could care less._

_ After a proud reply to a question from a doctor in Thanes focused on John's retribution to any past oversights, John's phone buzzed where it sat on the table near his mug._

** Hungry? SH**

_ John wasn't, actually, but he was on the verge of feeling lonely. _**Quite. JW**

** Want take-out? Close to Angelo's. SH**

_ Oh, well that was nice, and rare. John was in the middle of typing an agreeable reply when the device buzzed again._

** Or do you want me to take **_**you**_ **out tonight? SH**

_ Wait...huh?_

_ Another initiation? This was starting to feel almost normal for them._

** Oh, yeah. Sounds like fun :) JW**

_ 'Sounds like fun (smiley face)'- what the fuck, John? You could do better than that._

"_Good, what are you in the mood for?" The detectives voice rang from the front door as the doctor jumped a foot into the air and shouted in surprise._

"_Bloody fuck- Sherlock, I thought you were close to Angelo's!" The army doctor clenched at his jumper clad chest and huffed, "I hope you know how to resuscitate a heart attack victim."_

_ The brunette rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and snatched John's coat from it's rack, "I'll have you know that I do hold the basic knowledge of caring for a heart attack victim, John. Now, I'm hungry for once, lets get on with it."_

_ John sighed and rolled a chuckle, "Is that any way to treat your date, Holmes?" He raised a brow in mocking as the detective's eyes widened briefly._

_ Sherlock tossed the blonde's coat in his direction,"Not a date," But there was a hint of unsteadiness in the debonair facade, "Mood?"_

_ John caught it with a smirk, "Thai."_

"_Thai it is."_

So to say the least, last night's event was literally the boldest on Sherlock's part. After thinking long and hard on the situation, John could only come to the conclusion that the detective was just finding comfort in initiating jokes between close friends. And because of John being such a close friend, Sherlock was having it easy. But it still puzzled him. _'Especially when you bend over for me.'_

A shudder permeated through John's body. Why was _that _the next step? The phrase was so suggestive and _audacious_ that John was cautious of thinking further into possibility. The doctor wanted nothing more than to believe that Sherlock's reasons were in similar terms to John's devices, but he decided against it and brushed it off as, well, _adaptable_ would be the proper word.

_Adaptable. _Sure, this was something he would need to get used to if it were to continue recurring, but he could easily admit that it wouldn't be that hard. He enjoyed this, of course; he shamefully found pleasure in it. What Sherlock didn't realize when deciding to broaden the comfort zone was John's addictive rush of adrenaline having heard those forbidden words.

Here he sat with the paper in hand, room eerily silent, totally at a loss and not finding even one possible solution to his not-so-much-of-a-problem.

John clenched his fists and tightened his jaw as he heard the front door open and close, a small huff and the sound of someone toeing off their shoes.

"John, I have a question."

John didn't turn his head to give the man his attention, only burned a stare into the black and white clump of words in front of him, "And what would that be?

"Angelo was talking up a storm just a few minutes ago, telling me that his aunt used to be a nurse," He strolled right over to his chair, flopping down and sighing loudly, letting his head rest on the low cushion with his legs stretched out, almost touching John's where they firmly planted themselves on the wooden floor, "Now, she gives needle piercing lessons to anyone with the interest."

John's eyebrows knit together as he lowered the paper, "Piercing lessons?"

"Yes."

"And why would this be of interest? Yours, for that matter?"

Sherlock suddenly sat up with a smile he had no right to have on his face, "I was wondering," He brought his hands up to his face, a twinkle in his eyes as they bore into John's. John shrunk back slightly, "if maybe you'd take up such lessons."

"_Why_, Sherlock?"

"Well, you're the only doctor I trust for the job."

"What _job_?"

"The job of piercing me, of course. Come on, John; obvious."

John tensed in place, eyes blown wide as they involuntarily stared into Sherlock's. There was a long pause; Sherlock sat expectantly, a smile still playing on his haughty lips; John was very overwhelmed.

"Before you freak out-", "-I'm already freaking out-", "-I would like to name my reasons for choosing you.", "Sher-"

"John, you have nothing to worry about. I'm of perfect physical and psychological health, I'm a man of surprise, as you know, and I'm feeling adventurous. You're a doctor; you're more than experienced. I trust you both with the act itself and to understand that this is just...well, experimenting."

John sighed and sat back with a face that told the brunette he had nothing else worth saying, because this, in turn to what the blonde had been thinking about before this now crazy man walked into the flat, was just plain cruel.

"I would like my belly button pierced."

"..."

"Or my tongue; it's really up to what you're more comfortable handling."

Okay, hold on just a minute. May I just say, Sherlock, that you have been acting out of the norm. Completely and utterly different to your usual self. I've been trying to either ignore it or just play along and treat it like a minor improvement to your source of stress relief, whatever that may be. And there is a fine line between adventurous and down right insane; you're just about there. You cannot just barge on in here asking for something so... odd, from me." John's brows furrowed as his worry lines became prominent. His voice was but a mere rumble in his throat.

Sherlock's smile didn't even loosen; not one bit. In fact, the brunette boldly sat further forward and bit his lip, his hands clasped tightly together as if in prayer, "Please, John?" His eyes searched the older man's face as his suggestive tone hit John _hard _with disbelief.

What!? Was this a real thing? Was this _really_ happening to John? The blonde clenched his teeth and licked his bottom lip in contemplation, not only to raise an incredulous brow as the electric turquoise eyes followed the movement.

"Sherlock, if there's some kind of innuendo here, I'd rather it be direct. You know I don't hold the same enthusiasm in mystery as you do." Oh, John knew exactly what this was. But in order of playing it safe, he decided against breaking the ice alone with a measly spoon.

Sherlock tilted his head in thought, then suddenly stood and stepped the last foot between their chairs, almost centering in the middle of John's thighs, said blonde gasping with the closeness, "John, I just want you to realize the fun little things in life, is all," He slowly leaned down, inching closer and closer to the blondes cautious face, "And you know damn well that everything I've said or done over the last few months hasn't gone without purpose." The timber in Sherlock's voice didn't go unnoticed the least bit by the doctor.

John's mouth set open in a gape as Sherlock's face stopped just two inches from his. Eyes leveled and staring intently.

"And for you to grow a pair and help figure this out," he gestured to the space between them with a glance, which just so happened to be John's fucking _crotch_, "would have some extremely pleasing rewards."

Before the blonde could even question Sherlock's enthusiastic courage, the brunette straightened and leisurely made his way to his bedroom with a final, "I expect a decision on either belly or tongue by tomorrow's breakfast. Or both; more the merrier, is not the phrase?" before shutting the door and leaving the doctor alone in his own tense daze.


	2. Sweet Surprise

Chapter Two

Sweet Surprise

John woke with a start, his eyes shooting open and then squinting at the brightness of his room. There was a biting chill in the air that had the blonde squirming with discomfort as his ears echoed out the aching ring that was this morning's alarm.

The doctor threw his arm to the right in search of the damned phone and quickly turned over the device, silencing the annoying call and then flipping his body over petulantly to the opposite wall in hopes to fall asleep for just a few more minutes.

But before the darkness of sleep took over his already unconscious mind, he heard a large bang from the floor below him. His eyes once again shot open, but this time in full alertness and worry for Sherlock's wellbeing.

He shot out of bed, throwing the forgotten warmth of the covers to the floor as he slipped on his house shoes and swung open his door in haste to the stairwell. He almost tripped thrice in his rout to the questionable and continuous banging that permeated the downstairs before he reached the bottom, quickly flinging the door open into a surprisingly untouched living room.

There were no souls in this room, but the banging had now subsided to a rustling in the kitchen equipment. Whatever the chemist was doing, it was very surprising to John he was even up at this hour. It was only seven in the morning and his friend was known for a differing sleeping schedule. It was winter, so Sherlock originally decided to sleep in 30 minutes further than John; choosing to stay in the warmth of his bed until the fire was well warming the whole floor. So this couldn't be the taller man unless he had suddenly gone mad, madder than he already was, and decided to bring bedlam to the household at the crack of dawn.

Quickly turning the corner into the thought to be destruction of their kitchen, John was surprised to see a loose-robed Sherlock dancing about the room with large pots and pans tossed about every which way. The chemist was humming a small melody as a cloud of flour dusted his bedhead of curls and made a complete mess of the rest of the counter he was currently working at.

John's jaw was slack, his eyes wide as he watched the other man break three eggs into a smaller pan on the stove, where a tea kettle sat almost ready to whistle. Where there weren't bowls of varying and seemingly edible contents, there were books thrown open to different colorful pages and small index cards covered with scribbled writing strewn about.

"Sherlock?" The name was spoken as though the blonde were scared to spook the younger man.

Sherlock seemed not to have heard the utterance, so John stepped forward in the man's peripheral vision and asked, "Sherlock, what in the devil's name are you-"

Before the sentence could be finished, the detective swiftly turned on his heels, facing the older man with a spoon of some substance in his right hand, and took a single stride in John's direction, quickly yet very gently tilting the shorter man's chin up as the spoon dipped into John's mouth. Taste invaded his senses as he unintentionally yet immediately moaned at the flavor he tasted. Slightly bitter, yet so earthy and bitingly sweet. Raspberry, yes, a lot of raspberry. A hint of something citric and something else of the sweet side that he couldn't put a finger on.

"Well?" The brunette asked in a whisper. There was a hint of wariness in the bright eyes that bore into the blonde's. Sherlock's expectant face was a mere inch from John's, a finger still slightly touching his chin, "The lasting flavor you're contemplating would be the honey."

As John's still shocked demeanor finally relaxed, a warm smile and a short chuckle seemed to visibly elicit a blush from the taller man, "Sherlock, are you _cooking_?" a raise of the blonde brow turned his expression into a knowing smirk, the words leaving with the intention to tease.

"Yes, John." he placated, "Now what do you think? Too sweet? Sour?" The brunette leaned back to study the man's evaluation.

John licked his lips in hopes to catch any remaining flavor as he hummed in contemplation, "A bit sweet, yes, but I figure this is some sort of sauce destined to be added to a kind of pastry? I'd say it's pretty good." He smiled again in hopes the answer was what Sherlock was looking for.

Sherlock turned at the comment, a determined expression set upon his face as he reached across the table at a cookie sheet holding multiple dumpling shaped morsels. He quickly opened the oven, where a beautiful, buttery scent wafted in John's direction as he replaces another sheet with the one in his hand. The sheet he placed on the counter was covered in the same morsels from the previous sheet, but they were beautifully puffed and perfectly golden.

What Sherlock did next nearly had John faint with pure disbelief. The younger man then leaned over to snatch a utensil from the counter and came back to the fresh batch, carefully picking out the best volunteer and plucking it off the sheet with what looked like were crucible tongs. He came pack to John in a swift movement, lightly dripping a dose of the raspberry sauce on the curled tip of the pastry and plumping it in the blondes warily awaiting mouth. As his hand left Johns face, he lightly brushed his thumb over the doctor's lower lip to assuage the taste-tester.

John's heart nearly stopped as he chewed into the tingly flesh of a puff containing what he assumed was raspberry custard. The sharpness of the sauce mixed with the creamy paste created something the blonde couldn't handle. This time he groaned.

Sherlock beamed at the result in front of him. His little army doctor was falling for it. Now he could check this little experiment off the list; a quick way to a man's heart is through his stomach.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock? Where did you learn to cook like this?" The words came out in a slur of wonder, only accenting the sway of his half naked body, which in noticing that fact had Sherlock straining to hold back. John's eyes were closed as he savored the remnants of the morsel, his tongue darting out to taste his lips.

"I _am _a chemist, John." He smiled and leaned in a bit closer, lowering his voice exceptionally, "And I just decided to concoct something out of this material I borrowed from Mrs. Hudson." His hand lowered to another plate filled with some pinkish biscuits, "These are rose biscuits; my own little recipe."

Sherlock's almost hypnotic essence seemed to waver the older man into also leaning in, letting the detective place the small biscuit on John's tongue. This time, the doctor smiled into the bite, finishing off the food with a grunt of pleasure and an extreme lower of the voice into something more than knowing, "I know what you're doing, Sherlock."

"Oh yeah?" The chemist said a beat later, clearly dizzy with where he hoped this would finally go.

"Of course. Clever man," John quickly leaned forward a bit more to whisper in the other man's ear, "Trying to win me over for you're own devices with the use of taste, I see. You're doing a pretty good job."

Sherlock suddenly remembered last night's request, "Well, that could be one reason." The taller man snickered with a gleaming smile into John's shoulder.

"Oh? Am I missing something?" John moved back to watch Sherlock's face as he bit his lip and blushed, "And I'm totally not taking piercing lessons, by the way."

This was clearly foreplay for Sherlock, said detective assumed the other man totally oblivious of that fact. But John knew what this was. This was Sherlock's way of letting John know something. The elaborate pleasures he was clearly inducing on John made him feel light on his feet; so light, in fact, that the blonde had no trouble playing along. After the long session of contemplation the night prior, John finally questioned his own obliviousness of Sherlock's actual intentions, having been so clueless as to what to do. But after seeing _this_, something seldom discovered among Sherlock's habits, John could easily see his motives as though studying through crystal.

"I left you in a bit of a rough last night, this is the least I could do." Sherlock hung his head a bit, suddenly feeling intense nervousness.

John held back a daring giggle, "Wow, I thought I'd never hear that last part ever leave the lips of Sherlock Holmes."

"No, seriously, John." The look he gave made the shorter man's heart skip.

After a pause, John nodded, "Yeah, I guess last night was pretty... different." John took a step back and scanned the kitchen, the sitting room, his eyes studying the other man's irresistible state of dress; just a loosened robe over firm-fitting boxers and his favorite bumblebee slippers, "What's up, Sherlock? Really? I understand you're being adventurous and all, but... but this is all a bit frightening coming from you. I'm not used to it."

"Oh _come on_, John. Wasn't last night everything you _wanted _to hear from me?" John raised a brow at this. Sherlock saw the face he made and huffed, "Alright, I understand some of the things I said… and asked, were a bit drastic," John was surprised to see the other man roll his eyes, puff out his cheeks in distress, and cross his arms over his chest disappointingly, choosing to be totally childlike, "But I at least made it easy for you."

John was now the one to roll his eyes, "Yes, you did... idiot." John stood sternly and eyed the brunette.

Sherlock's petulant posture tensed a bit, "So you're finally and openly aware of my intentions?"

"Well," John sighed, "Of course I am. But as you know me to be a naïve optimist, I happen to see things differently sometimes." John was now feeling questionable, like he was testing himself, "I feel like this is another one of your little games..."

"Games?

"Yeah, like-" He frustratingly huffed and gestured to the kitchen's contents, "-why all of this? Why so suddenly are you taking responsibility? I know you, and when it comes to playing games, this is how you initiate your moves; you simply astonish me left and right until I have no choice but to just let you win," He said all of this in a rush, then paused for a moment, leaning to grip the tabletop and move forward a foot, "I never get to make the move, Sherlock. It's always you that takes the chances, which, honestly, is extremely surprising, considering your normal process."

Where Sherlock thought that last sentence was going to sting, what with the tone John set off with. It surprisingly awoke a million butterflies in the pit of his stomach, "Is it?"

John watched the other man thoughtfully for a moment, then looked up in determination; maybe somewhat of a little haughtiness playing in his eyes, "Yes," his gaze rose to the other man's, "It is…"

Sherlock wasn't ready for the next part, which came with the most amazing glint in the blonde's eyes, "Can I pitch in?" He dropped the ball.

Sherlock swallowed the small gasped his surprise threatened to produce, and all he could say was, "John..."

The doctor waited expectantly.

"John, you silly, little man; of course…" Sherlock smiled sweetly, "What made you think you _couldn't _pitch in?"

John, feeling a bit embarrassed for having just said something holding so much ambiguity, suddenly put his hands on his hips, jutting one out and ignoring his friend's (turned "something a little bit more") question, "Well, now that that's off my chest, I hope you realize that this is equally nerve wracking as it is exciting."

Sherlock's face could have been considered comical, if not totally adorable.

"So please cool it down with the ridiculous flirting and immaculate hospitality." John stepped a bit closer and watched the other man's reaction with an amiable smile, "It would just be easier on my part if you _refrain _from giving me a damn heart attack."

Sherlock's brows furrowed, "Have I scared you into such a condition?"

"No, Sherlock, I'm simply saying that, yes, I like this." He gesture to the area between them, "Whatever the hell it is. And instead of wooing me with all this surprise, you could have easily as well said something. I'm not very bright, as you know," Sherlock raised a brow as in to disagree, which lit a small flame in the blonde's heart, "So all of this dancing around - as some may call it - has been a bit stressful on my part."

Sherlock cocked his head to the side, looking off a ways in thought, "Oh..."

John chuckled lightly and let another warming smile play on his lips, "And I strongly reiterate my refusal to pierce your tongue, out of all things; such a useful organ shan't be stabbed in such a way."

Sherlock smiled and nodded at the comment, "Understood... would you rather the bellybutton?" The brunette had the nerve to raise the front of his shirt, exposing his firm naval to the blonde.

John's face reddened profusely. He decided to play along; it seemed as though Sherlock understood his reasonable request to finally allow pitching in, so why not take the chance at taking this form of teasing to the next level, "Not unless you are willing to be introduced to Prince Edward."

Sherlock's eyebrow rose incredulously at the odd allusion.

John then leaned into Sherlock's ear and whispered whatever PG form of the procedure he could muster in the most astute way possible.

Now Sherlock was the one to flush.


End file.
